


Half the Otherside

by ThePenguinOfDeath



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Derek's Eyebrows, Getting Together, M/M, Succubi & Incubi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4117957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePenguinOfDeath/pseuds/ThePenguinOfDeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's an incubus in Beacon Hills</p><p>/</p><p>(You don't need to have read His Dark Materials to understand this)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half the Otherside

**Author's Note:**

> For those who haven't read His Dark Materials, daemons are physical maifestations of a person's soul in animal form. They're kind of like spirit animals. It's taboo to talk to or touch someone else's daemon, but everyone regularly talks to their own. Once you hit puberty your daemon stays in one form for the rest of your life. When you die, your daemon does. Humans can survive losing their daemons but they're always changed by the experience. If it's still unclear, leave a comment explaining and I'll try and update this description to improve it.

_Dæmons are the external physical manifestation of a person's 'inner-self' that takes the form of an animal. Dæmons have human intelligence, are capable of human speech—regardless of the form they take—and usually behave as though they are independent of their humans. Pre-pubescent children's dæmons can change form voluntarily, almost instantaneously, to become any creature, real or imaginary. During their adolescence a person's dæmon undergoes "settling", an event in which that person's dæmon permanently and involuntarily assumes the form of the animal which the person most resembles in character. Dæmons and their humans are almost always of different genders._

_Although dæmons mimic the appearance and behaviour of the animals they resemble perfectly, dæmons are not true animals, and humans, other dæmons, and true animals are able to distinguish them on sight. The faculty or quality that makes this possible is not explained in the books, but it is demonstrated extensively, and is reliable enough to allow humans to distinguish a bird-shaped dæmon within a flock of birds in flight._

_Dæmons frequently interact with each in other in ways that mirror the behavior of their humans, such as fighting one another when their humans are fighting, or nuzzling one another when their humans embrace, and such contact between dæmons is unremarkable._

_(Excerpt from Dæmons: Origins and Evolutionary Advantages)_

“Iskra! Put the toilet roll down!” Stiles scowled at his dæmon, waving a protesting arm in the air.

Iskra gave a disgruntled cheep as she dropped her toy, flying to perch on Stiles’ shoulder. “But I’m borreedddd. You’ve been researching incubi for ages and you still haven’t found anything interesting – and no, Japanese porn does not count as interesting. I want to go flying.”

According to the Doctors, his dæmon’s lack of obedience stemmed from a mixture of Stiles’ OCD and his lack of confidence in himself. Which, screw them, Stiles had the confidence of a lion – so much, in fact, that his dæmon really ought to have taken that form when she settled.

“Later, Iskra. You can fly with the pack. You always love freaking Isaac and Kuttita out with how far we can move apart.”

Iskra hopped down onto Stiles’ laptop, standing haughtily in front of the screen.

“Dammit, Iskra! Fine, I’ll open the window for you, but stay away from my dad. You know what him and Setia are like when they hear I’ve let you out on your own.”

“What do they expect? You can’t fly.” Iskra gave him a gentle peck on his ear before flying over to the window. “You might want to check Allison’s online bestiary again. Pemburu says she updated it after she went to Brazil, and you know incubi are twenty times more common there than they are in the US.”

“You know, if you’d mentioned that earlier, you could have left half an hour ago.” Stiles sighed, shoving the window up. “Don’t go too far.”

“I wouldn’t.” Iskra nudged his hand in thanks before taking off, flying awkwardly out into the evening air.

Not for the first time, Stiles wondered why on Earth he had ended up with a pigeon dæmon.

He’d read the lore of course – dæmonology had been his favourite subject in Middle School and, after the whole werewolves thing, he’d read every book on the supernatural (including dæmons) that he could – and he knew that your dæmon manifested in the form your soul both suited and needed most. That was why Premi, Scott’s dæmon, was a beagle – affectionate and loving but protective, spirited and a hunter’s companion (much more relevant after the werewolf thing). It was why Allison’s Pemburu was a White-Mustached Portia spider – intelligent, resourceful and the hunter that lay in wait and trapped its prey. It was how Stiles had known Jer – or rather, Ngajerit, Lydia’s dæmon –would be a raccoon. Raccoons cultivated complex social relationships as a necessity and were rational and logical problem solvers, just like Lydia herself.

Pigeons were one of the world’s most adaptable, successful species. They were food-oriented and brave past the point of stupidity. They were intelligent in that they had an incredible memory for individuals and places. Stiles refused to see himself in that description, although he couldn’t deny that ‘food-oriented’ was pretty much his life motto.

Turning back to his laptop, Stiles pulled up the online bestiary. He put in his username and password on autopilot and wasted no time sticking ‘incubus’ in the search box. When 5,127 hits popped up he resisted the urge to groan.

“Seriously, Allison? You can’t have encountered that many incubi in Brazil.”

“Found anything?”

Stiles most definitely didn’t squeak. It was a very deep, manly noise of surprise that was perfectly excusable because Derek Hale was the creepiest motherfucker in creeptown.

“Jeez, make some noise! In fact, stop sneaking in through my window at all and ring the doorbell like a normal person. Or if my dad’s home, at least knock.”

Predictably, Derek ignored him, Keindahan curling up on Stiles’ bed. At first, the American mink had surprised him – it seemed strange for a born werewolf to have such a small creature, and even semi-aquatic dæmons were inconvenient – but werewolves had an enormous separation range from their dæmons so Keindahan never needed to come on hunts. She spent most of her time in an inflatable pool in Derek’s loft, entirely ignoring everyone else and their respective dæmons.

“I’ll take that as you haven’t.”

“Woah woah woah, I didn’t say that. According to what it says here, incubi are the result of a warlock, mage or sorceror being fully severed from his dæmon. As he no longer has his soul, he has to devour the souls of others to survive. At first, he can survive by ‘sharing’ someone’s life force using sexual energy, but eventually that’s not enough so he just eats their dæmon.” Stiles shuddered. The idea was monstrous.

“So the dead girl died because her dæmon was eaten by the incubus?”

“I assume so.”

In the corner, Keindahan hissed, her eyes flashing red. Stiles had to look away. Alpha Derek he could cope with – the idea of a dæmon being an alpha too would never stop being strange.

“What’s their weakness?”

“If they don’t eat then they die, but beyond that, I can’t find anything. It sounds like the hunters lock them in a room alone until they starve to death. But it doesn’t say that they’re invulnerable so ripping them apart like you normally do would probably work, provided you could get close enough without being affected.”

Derek nodded, before turning back towards the window. “Pack meeting tonight. Iskra should be there.”

“She’s just gone for a fly, she was feeling cooped up. She’ll be there. Should I bring cheetos?”

Derek scowled before vanishing out of the window, Keindahan crawling into a bag on his back for transport. Stiles threw his arms up at their retreating backs.

“Valid question!” He complained, knowing Derek would hear.

 

/

_"The worst breach of etiquette imaginable" is for a human to touch another person's dæmon; even in battle, most soldiers would never touch an enemy's dæmon, though exceptions can be made (such as between lovers). The physical handling of a dæmon causes vulnerability and weakness in the person whose dæmon is being touched, suggesting a sexual element to human-dæmon contact. Historically, touching an individual’s dæmon has been used as a form of torture, however it was unpopular as a method due to the discomfort also being transmitted to the torturer. In the case of lovers, touching a dæmon allows emotions to be transmitted across the bond._

_(Excerpt from Dæmons: Origins and Evolutionary Advantages)_

Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets, his fingers stiff with the cold. Werewolves never seemed to notice changes in temperature – or at least, none of them had commented on the temperature suddenly plunging by ten degrees.

In the distance, he could just about make out the sounds of shouting that meant the pack was returning. Derek had sent them on some kind of scent-training exercise, supposedly preparation for hunting down the incubus. Not that Stiles thought scent-tracking was the best strategy against a creature that used scent to lure in its prey, but hey, he was only the human, what did he know?

The branches rustled overhead and Iskra dropped down onto the floor by Stiles, her wings twitching. Moments later, she was followed by a majestic owl – Deaton’s dæmon.

“Iskra? What’s Lerer doing here?”

“We have a problem.” Iskra replied, glancing over at Derek. “Where’s everyone else?”

Derek glanced up, obviously listening in on the conversation. A frown had taken over his face – but then that was hardly unusual.

“Deaton was doing some research into the incubus. He mentioned it to one of his friends in New York, and apparently the incubus we’re dealing with is very, very old.” Iskra paused. “The older an incubus is, the longer they’ve been severed – so the more regularly they need to eat. Which means our previous calculations of a week before the next attack need to be adjusted.”

The thud of footfalls started to echo, and Stiles’s eyes flickered away from Iskra for a moment, noting the arrival of Scott and Isaac. Had his hands been less cold, he thought they might have been going clammy.

“How long?”

“According to Lerer, somewhere between zero and five hours.”

Lerer hooted. Stiles reached out to place a hand on Iskra’s back, steadying himself. Around him, he noticed Derek’s eyes flash red and Scott and Isaac turning to talk conspirationally. With their hearing, they had undoubtedly heard the entire thing. Behind them, Boyd and Erica had just arrived and were wandering towards Derek looking concerned.

“Fuck.” Stiles wracked his brain. “Derek? Have you got a plan?”

Derek’s eyes glowed in the dim light. Keindahan wasn’t with him – she was safe in the loft – so he didn’t even have the stability of his dæmon to keep his emotions in control.

“Boyd, Erica, run the perimeter. See if you pick up any unusual scents or traces. Scott, Isaac, head towards town. Don’t engage it if you find it, signal the rest of us. Stiles, go home. It’s not safe.”

Stiles opened his mouth to protest. “Wait a minute-“

“Stiles.” Derek started to continue, before suddenly stopping, tilting his head to one side. The red in his eyes deepened. He seemed to be sniffing something.

Around Stiles, all the wolves started to sniff. Premi, beside Scott, let out a whine, shrinking in towards him. Sogasaina, Erica’s swan dæmon, hissed threateningly.

Iskra and Lerer let out matching caws before taking flight, circling the forest above the pack. Their motion seemed to break some sort of spell.

“It’s here.” Derek’s fangs had appeared, his voice changing tone. “Stiles, don’t move.”

“What? Why me?”

“You’re human. You’re closely bound to your dæmon. Werewolves’ souls aren’t quite the same, I doubt the incubus would see us as food.”

Thoughts flashed through Stiles’s mind. “Not sure it quite works like that, but fine. So I’m bait. Iskra, go and find Deaton. If she’s not around, the incubus can’t kill me, right?”

“I assume not?” Erica didn’t sound sure, stepping forward with Sogasaina at her heels. “Should Boyd and I still run perimeter? We can probably trace the scent, check there’s no more hiding out.”

“No. There’s only one.” Derek sniffed again. “It’s getting closer. Stiles – Scott, what are you doing?”

In the corner of the clearing, Scott appeared to have started swaying. His eyes had glasses over into blessed-out yellow, and Premi had started to back away from him, shaking slightly. A sheen of sweat was visible on his forehead as he moved from side to side.

Instantly, Stiles knew. “She’s not after me. I’m a spark, that’s magic – I’m more separated from Iskra than the turned wolves. She’s after Scott. He’s in love, he’s an easy target. Shit. Scott!”

Scott clearly couldn’t hear them – a sappy smile had appeared on his face and he had started to meander forwards.

With a growl, Derek shifted and pounced on the beta. Instantly, Scott was growling, shifting himself, fingernails digging into Derek’s arms. Derek growled and stared at him with his alpha eyes, shoving him with his superior strength, but Scott was too far gone to submit to the alpha.

Even Stiles could now smell something – vaguely sweet but with a hint of something sour and wrong that curdled on the edge of the senses. To Scott, it would smell enticing – had the incubus been a succubus and female, Stiles would have betted his soul that Scott smelt Allison. But it was a male – apparently Scott was less straight than his Allison-obsession revealed.

Cursing to himself, he yelled out, “Iskra!” Fumbling in his bag, he pulled out the mountain ash.

He didn’t know whether mountain ash would work on an incubus. It wouldn’t work at all without his dæmon helping him find his ‘spark’. But it could stop Scott going after it before Derek tore him to shreds in desperation.

With a sudden surge of strength, Scott threw Derek off him into the nearest tree. The trunk gave a sickening crack as he hit. Derek growled, standing up, but before he got pounce on Scott again Scott had stepped forward up to a creature at the edge of the clearing.

Stiles’s first thought was that the incubus looked tired. It had the body of a forty-odd year old man, with a slightly saggy waist and excess chest hair. Its face had bags under the eyes and was a pale, unhealthy pallor. Its hair was dark and straggly, not brushed, and there were stains on the shorts that were the only clothing it wore. Scott was looking at it like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen – he was clearly looking at an illusion. If they survived this, Stiles would undoubtedly tease him about it later.

The gap where the dæmon should be was noticeable – the energy the incubus gave off felt wrong. As Scott approached, the sense of wrongness built until Erica leapt forward with a snarl.

“Don’t touch it!” Stiles yelled. “That’s how it feeds. You need to trap it.” That was something his research had uncovered just before he left for the meeting. If only he could remember the rest.

“How?” Isaac asked.

“I need... Iskra! Come here now!” Stiles rarely felt his dæmon’s absence but he felt it now. For the first time in a long time, he wished he had a dæmon that stayed closer by his side.

Scott had knealt down in front of the creature, and as Stiles watched, it leant forward and placed a hand on his face. Scott’s entire body juddered.

Until the incubus touched Premi, Scott was safe – he would be injured by the soul-sucker but Deaton could cure him. Probably. But they were running out of time. Derek was growling, and Erica, Boyd and Isaac didn’t have full control yet – if their packmate remained enthralled and separated from them for much longer, they would attack instinctually not matter what Stiles said.

Finally, a chirping sounded overhead and Iskra swept down, a bottle of something clutched in her talons. She dropped it just before landing on Stiles’s shoulder – typically, he missed it, and bent down to pick it up.

It wasn’t mountain ash – it contained a strange silver substance.

“This traps the incubus?”

“Yes. Quickly.” Iskra replied.

Stiles unscrewed the cap and tipped the silver stuff into his hand. It was cool to the touch. He noticed Scott’s body contort before closing his eyes, focusing on the link between him and Iskra.

The ‘spark’ wasn’t really a spark in Stiles’s eyes but more like a plug socket. To use it, you had to stick your finger in. But every instinct and everything you had ever been told taught you not to stick your finger it, and that conditioning made it surprisingly hard to do. Every time you tried, you faltered away out of self presentation or worry. On the rare occasions you succeeded, the resulting rush of energy was so painful you tried to avoid ever doing it again.

Stiles found his mental plug socket and his entire body tensed. He didn’t want the pain. But Scott was going to die if this didn’t work.

Stiles _willed_ the incubus to be trapped and thrust his hand forward, his eyes springing open.

The silver substance struck the incubus and expanded, covering its body. The creature sprang back, letting out an unholy sound somewhere between a shriek and a roar. It staggered, almost like it was covered in a heavy weight, before falling to the floor and convulsing. Around it, the silver substance slowly hardened. If it could breathe, the incubus would be suffocating. As it was, it would probably starve to death.

On the floor, Scott let out a retching noise, falling onto one side. His body was unhealthily pale. Premi ran to his side, curling her body up protectively with his own.

“Deaton,” Stiles croaked, and then passed out.

 

/

 

_Certain people, particularly witches and human shamans, have achieved the ability to separate (which is still, initially, painful) from his or her dæmon by undergoing an initial voluntary separation which must be done at a specific place; for the witches this is at a canyon underneath the Earth. Shamans endure grueling ordeals that involve leaving their dæmon as they embark on a spiritual quest, crossing an area of death where nothing may grow or live. After rejoining their dæmon they gain the ability to separate from them to a far greater extent than was previously possible. Both witches and shamans regain their intimate bond with their dæmon, the only change is in the distance they can travel away from each other._

_(Excerpt from Allison’s Bestiary: Witches/ Magic Users)_

Stiles woke up to Derek Hale’s face looming over his body.

He let out a yelp, his cheeks going pink and a part of him he certainly wasn’t thinking about twitching. Iskra twitched where she was curled up on his stomach. Derek raised a single eyebrow in response, clearly amused.

“Damnit Derek. Creeper.” Memories swarmed in, a pang of pain reverberating through his skull. “How’s Scott? Is he ok?”

“Scott is fine. His healing is advanced, he was fully healed two hours later. Deaton says there’s no lasting damage but he and Premi are likely to have to work on their separation distance again.”

“No lasting damage. Good. Awesome. I’m starving, do you have any food?”

Stiles could have sworn Derek went slightly red before producing a packet of cheetos.

“Cheetos! Oh god I love you. Platonically, obviously. Because I wouldn’t love you like that. I’m straight. Sort of. And in love with the unobtainable goddess Lydia. And-“

“Stiles.” Derek interrupted. “Eat your cheetos.”

Stiles ate his cheetos.

Once he had finished and set the empty bag aside (an entire pack of cheetos on an empty stomach, his dad would kill him and never stick to his diet plan ever again) Derek took his hand.

Stiles’s brain stalled.

Derek. Hale. Was. Holding. His. Hand.

“Uhmmm...” Stiles eloquently said, his own fingers curling around Derek’s. “Have I missed something?”

“You’re an idiot.” Derek kept his hand in Stiles’ for another moment before withdrawing it and stepping back. “I need to talk to Deaton. Drink. You’re probably dehydrated.”

With that, Derek left the room, the door swinging behind him.

“Derek’s right. You are an idiot.” Iskra commented from Stiles’ stomach.

Still tired from being unconscious, for once in his life Stiles didn’t comment and just took a sip of the water next to his bed. This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He could figure it out another day.


End file.
